


we'll go up (instead of down)

by sirenofodysseus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Blind sex, Blow Jobs, Couch Sex, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Multi, Naive Grace, circa 1x16: Bloodshot, just a lot of sex, my ot3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 22:16:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9405329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: Circa S1xe16: Bloodshot. Although he feels guilty for betraying the memory of his deceased wife—and his wedding band feels like a lead weight, lodged around his finger—he can’t deny it feels good.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Aye, my first fic of 2017--and of course, it has to be smut. Please forgive me. (Or don't. Really don't.)

Jane holds Grace’s sleeve in-between his fingers as he allows her to lead him to the bullpen couch; her steps are shaky and he imagines her heart pounding from the earlier adrenaline, but he keeps his comments to himself. She’s been through enough for one evening and he doubts, she would appreciate him slipping in another _well-placed_ comment about gullible women from Iowa.

 

            “We’re at your couch now, Jane,” Grace tells him quietly and he starts to sit down, feeling aged leather against his back. He cannot help but shoot her a wide smile, as he releases her sleeve and leans backwards. “I’m sorry again.” He can’t see her, thanks to the damned _temporary_ blindness that the doctor continues to insist will “go away in a few more days”, but he can just _tell_ she’s rocking on the ball of her heels from the way her shoes squeak.

            “Grace,” Jane starts, still offering her a kind smile. “Nobody, aside from Dan, died tonight. If a sociopath is the only victim, after a car chase and a bathroom smash-in, I’d say we’re in pretty good shape.” He chuckles and instead of a laugh (or some sign, she’s fine), he only gets silence. “Oh come on, Grace. We both know Wayne’ll be fine after a few pizzas.”

            “Go ahead and laugh,” Grace snaps at him suddenly, her voice wavering and Jane stops laughing. “We _almost_ died tonight, because of my decision in men.”

            “Regardless of my jabs, Grace, how were you supposed to know Dan was bent on revenge?” He paused to tilt his head up at her, although he still couldn’t see. He just had a feeling that the wheels within Grace’s head were turning. “Do you do background checks on all your lovers? Or just the ones, who strike your fancy at places outside the coffee cart?”

            “He was a lawyer, Jane.”

            “Hence your problem, Grace,” Jane points out, without a trace of irony in his voice. “You can’t trust lawyers _or_ doctors. Both professions are shady and by my proclamation, Lisbon did the best thing by ridding the world of another useless lawyer.” He smiles again and suddenly, he hears footsteps. “Ah. Lisbon. I was just telling Grace about how I approve of your single good deed for the day—outside of saving us, of course.”

 

“You can’t call it a “good deed” every time someone shoots a lawyer or doctor dead,” Lisbon points out. “Murder _is_ murder. It’s illegal in all the states, punishable by the electric chair in a good quarter of those states.” He can hear the smile in her voice and it’s infectious. They’ve solved yet _another_ murder and although Lisbon hasn’t brought out the closed-case pizza yet, he knows she’ll have it ready when he regains his sight. Which is good, because he’s _starving_. Apparently, losing his eyesight _and_ almost being killed in the same week is just enough to make him want to be Rigsby (in regards of the man’s insatiable appetite) for a while. “You alright, Grace?”

            “I’m fine, boss.” _Liar_ , Jane thinks as a smile stretches across his face.

            “Don’t lie, Grace.” Jane’s pretty impressed with Lisbon’s people reading skills, even if she’s using them on Grace—because anyone (even the vision impaired) could tell this entire debacle had shaken the redheaded agent down to her core. Of course, Lisbon had more decorum than he did as he would have just told her _how_ he had known she was lying. “I get enough lying with our resident consultant here. I don’t need you to join him.” Jane hears Grace sigh, before Lisbon’s voice is in his ear. “And _you_! If you continue to tease her about this, I’ll hack your body into little pieces.”

            “Ooh, kinky,” Jane comments with a chuckle, before Lisbon’s cuffs his ear. “You’re not supposed to hurt the injured, Lisbon. You’re supposed to _protect_ them.”

            “I think they’ll make an exception in your case, trust me.” Lisbon dryly informs him and Jane tilts his head in Grace’s direction again, who has been far too silent in his earnest opinion. “Don’t listen to him, Grace. He’s just grumpy, because he’s _still_ blind and Hollenbeck’s dead.”

            Jane grimaces. “Now, you’re just being mean.” He hears Lisbon’s footsteps again and he almost believes she’s left them alone, but her vanilla scent lingers and he can’t help but reach out—only to brush against her breasts. “Sorry, Lisbon. Total accident, I assure you.”

            “The first time, I believed that,” Lisbon tells him and Jane says nothing, because he _has_ touched both Grace and Lisbon in _many_ inappropriate places during the past week of “temporary blindness”. He accidentally groped Lisbon at the crime scene and Grace, well, he had accidentally felt up her breasts. Part of him had felt _extremely_ guilty for “coping a feel”, but the other part of him—the part of him that he hadn’t thought about since the death of his wife, years ago—enjoyed the swell of Grace’s breasts in his hands and the firmness of Lisbon’s ass against his fingertips. That though, didn’t make him a pervert. It just made him human; it made him a male. “But then,” he felt Lisbon’s hand on his chest. “You had a reaction.” From his chest, he felt Lisbon’s hand slip to the crotch area of his dress pants. Her hand brushed against the fabric, which hid his non-erect penis from view and he nearly shot out of his skin. “A _visible_ reaction.” Jane swallowed roughly and he strained his hearing, only to hear the sound of someone’s _zipper_ being undone. It obviously wasn’t his and from the sharp intake of breath, he had a sinking feeling that Lisbon had just undone the zipper on Grace’s pants.

            Not that he exactly understood _why_ Lisbon would undo Grace’s zipper, especially considering the both of them were _straight_. (At least, he had thought they were?) Grace’s decision to date Hollenbeck and Lisbon’s decision to not date at all had made him believe they were 100% straight (or at the very least, workaholics). Then again, there were always signs that he had purposely ignored. Grace’s continued ignorance of Rigsby’s advances, the fact that Lisbon had seemed _so_ turned off at the idea of dating him (or any guy, for that matter) and perhaps, the oddest thing of all:

            Grace’s continued tardiness to crime scenes, over the past three months. Lisbon had yet to say anything about it and…

            Jane blinks behind his sunglasses, as suddenly _it_ clicks. Grace Van Pelt and Teresa Lisbon have been fooling around for the last few months. Dan, Jane decides, was either a distraction _or_ a way to make Lisbon jealous—which amuses him, greatly. He had no idea Grace was _so_ devious and it almost makes him proud.

 

            “Lisbon,” he hears Grace say lowly. “We can’t…” He assumes Lisbon’s silenced her with a kiss, because well, what else would make the woman suddenly gasp in mid-sentence? Jane’s imagination goes wild. He imagines Lisbon’s hand against Grace’s clit, her fingers pulsing in and out of the tight, clean pussy—soaking wet and…

            “I think someone’s enjoying themselves,” Lisbon comments and Jane doesn’t even attempt to hide the tenting in the front of his trousers. “You’d enjoy it better if you’d let us take your pants off you.” Before he can say anything, he feels someone’s hand yank at the button on his trousers until he’s left sitting on his couch in only his boxers and his three-piece vest. Someone’s mouth (Grace’s) presses against his, as she smells of lilac and now mingled with vanilla, while Lisbon’s moist mouth wraps around his erect penis. He feels Grace settle in his lap, her bare thighs sandwiching his leg as he feels her juices drip on his bare skin. It nearly makes him shiver in delight.

            Instead of pushing her away, he wraps one of his arms around her bare waist to keep her steady and uses his other hand to tug at Lisbon’s hair. Jane’s head lulls against the back of the couch, his eyes closed as his body writhes under the dual caresses of Lisbon and Grace. He considers pushing them away after a while—considers thinking of his dead wife and child, as a way to stop anyone from making a bad decision—but he doesn’t. Red John can wait, he thinks as he feels nimble fingers roll a condom around his penis. Actually, he thinks, the entire world can wait as he’s _so_ close…so close to…

            Suddenly, Grace is climbing off him and he’s being maneuvered to lie down on his back (which forces him to drop his fingers from Lisbon’s hair). His head touches the armrest and he hears Grace tsk at him. “You’re going to want to scoot down a little further.” He abides and then, he hears Grace comment to Lisbon: “I’m going to try this.” Before Jane can ask what _this_ is, he feels a foot sandwiched between his ribcage and the couch. “Put your hands right under my ass, Jane.” 

            “Okay?” Jane follows her instruction, feeling awkward as his fingers brush her dripping clit. He feels Grace quiver, before he’s able to hook his hands just below the curvature of her low ass.

            “Now,” Grace continues, after she’s stopped quivering and he’s still helping her, “taste me.” He doesn’t need second confirmation, as his tongue darts out from his mouth and licks explanatorily. Jane’s not met with air. He’s met with smooth skin and the lingering juices from her clit; and he can’t help himself, as he peppers her clit with puffs of warmth breath. “ _Stop that_ ,” Grace hisses, after he’s exhaled for the fourth time. He tries to offer her a harmless smile, before his tongue is rooting around inside her—forcing the redhead’s knees to buckle and a moan to encroach her lips. “Oh god, Jane!”

            “Without irony too,” Jane tells her, amusedly, before he buries his nose and mouth in her clit. She smells of citrus and tastes of salt—and for a moment, he forgets he’s not with his wife. Until he feels a second pair of hands atop his condom-dressed penis and he’s brought back down from the high he was on.

            “Don’t pout, Jane,” Lisbon warns him from his feet.

            “I don’t pout, Lisbon.” He can imagine her eyes rolling and the shake of her head, regardless of the fingers he feels on the tip of his penis. Jane continues his tasting of Grace, even after Lisbon has parted his feet and has climbed atop his lap. He doesn’t ask questions as he feels her settle herself atop him. Instead, he moans as her tight (and very wet) clit clenches around his length.

            “I think he likes it, Teresa,” he hears Grace after Lisbon begins to bounce herself, up and down, atop him gently. A guttural moan threatens to spill from his lips, as Lisbon continues her movements. His tongue brushes against Grace’s clit again, forcing the younger woman to shiver in his grasp. Once or twice, he hears Lisbon moan and that, he thinks with a twitch of the lips, is the ultimate confidence booster after nearly a decade of celibacy. Although he feels guilty for betraying the memory of his deceased wife—and his wedding band feels like a lead weight, lodged around his finger—he can’t deny it feels good. He also doubts Grace (or Lisbon) would pause, just because he was “missing” his wife. Lisbon isn’t much for that emotional crap and Grace, well…she’s always been a woman of faith and he doesn’t need a lecture around the fact his wife (or God) would understand his need to lie with another woman.

            Of course, he doubts the bible encourages polyamory. Or, out of wedlock sex. But that’s just his opinion of the so-called _holy book_ and he’s not about to have _that_ particular conversation with a Catholic and a Christian.

            “Stop thinking,” Lisbon tells him finally. He hears Grace laugh and he can’t tell if she’s laughing at him (and Lisbon, in extension) or because Lisbon’s probably got her hand in two cookie jars. Jane curses his inability to see again, as Lisbon continues until she clenches around him and _explodes_ with a murmured _Jane_.

 

Jane nearly forgets about the relativity of Grace’s clit, as he feels Lisbon dismount him. His fingers snake downwards toward his penis, before he grabs his erect cum-soaked cock and slides his hand up-and-down in a rapidly jerking motion. The rubber of the condom causes his grip to slide a few times, until Lisbon’s hand settles atop his to steady his jerking movements. He feels like a prepubescent teenager again and almost shies away from her touch, but she doesn’t let him and Grace doesn’t laugh at his motions. In fact, Grace says nothing at all as Lisbon helps him.

Arching off the couch, Jane barely has time to cry out, before he comes.


End file.
